Dear Journal
by Frostfyre
Summary: The new kid is weird. For one thing, he's green.


**A/N**: Too much Invader Zim and Johnny the Homicidal Maniac is not good for a developing psyche.

Here's the thing: **This is not Earth**. Due to my distaste in creating entirely new technology for a completely fictional race for a little story where said race is just a tool, I've decided that the culture and technology of this alien race developed similarly to ours. Convergent evolution, if you will.

And they have dogs.

Also: This is **not** ZADR. Personally, I'm not a fan. At best, I figure they could be vitriolic best buds. Of course, this isn't ZADF, either.

**Disclaimer:** Really? Seriously? Does this look like a Jhoven Vasquez work?

* * *

**Dear Journal**

_Dear Journal,_

The new kid is weird.

For one thing, he's green. Blue, I'd understand. Purple, red, yeah. My great-grandmother was orange. But green? Nah. No way. There's no such thing as green people.

But then Mom says that I'm being "insensitive" and that it's _definitely_ a skin condition. Yeah right, is that supposed to make him_ less_ of a weirdo? What if it's contagious? Or really gross. What if his arm falls off in the middle of gym class? He could be throwing a ball, and then his arm just pops off and hits _me_, and then I'm covered in weird-green-person-blood and I'm pretty sure that doesn't come out of clothing. Not to mention that everyone would probably start avoiding me so that they don't get infected with his weird green-person disease.

That's not even it, though. The kid is freaking _insane_, full-blown schizophrenic, voices in his head and everything. Hell, I've even heard him talking to his dog (who is also green!) on occasion, ranting about its incompetence in regards to "the mission". And if he's not yelling at the dog, he's yelling at "Dib," and that's even more weird. The dog at least is there. Dib is just empty space.

The teacher tries to pass it off, saying that Dib is probably a very important entity in the kid's religion, but that's even more stupid than what Mom says about the skin thing. You don't yell at angels or gods or whatever and call them "Dib-beasts" and "Bigheads". He's just crazy. Nothing else to it.

Not to mention, he never takes off his stupid backpack.

I don't know why the other rejects are afraid of him. This one kid, Blip I think, keeps calling him an _invader_. Seriously, if you're going to try to be cool and pick on Greenboy, at least be creative or clever. There's nothing funny about an invader. That's just lame.

_._

_Dear Journal,_

Blip's gone. I heard he moved to one of the poles to go live in touch with the ice. Or got eaten by a rat-bear.

Greenboy's furious about something. Earlier, I heard him screaming in the restroom at "Dib" again.

"Someone_ always_ sees!" he shrieked, glaring hatefully at thin air. "Always! You're _making_ them, aren't you? Trying to find another champion, another Dib, _**hmmm**_?" He threw his head back and laughed like some cheesy villain before declaring, "I am **_Zim_**! I defeated you, Dib-beast, and I will defeat all of your shadows _one by one_!"

I knew it wasn't some god. He really is just crazy.

_._

_Dear Journal,_

So it really is my luck that when the teacher paired us all up to look over each other's homework, I get stuck with Greenboy. Looks of pity were sent my way, disgust thrown at him. At least everyone knew that I _didn't_ want to be in this position.

"You should feel honored, stinky creature," he intoned condescendingly. "Your pathetic _homework_ shall be evaluated by the almighty _**Zim**_! Your stupidity will never again be so fully exposed." He snatched up my paper and glared imperiously at it, like _it_ was the vile, disease-ridden thing and not him.

"Whatever," I grumbled. Really, arguing with the guy did nothing except have him split your eardrums open with his screams of "_Lies! **Lies**! Pathetic stink-creature, you know not the **powers** you trifle with!_" Better to brush him off and make fun of him behind his back, so that godawful voice of his doesn't get any screechier than usual.

I could hear his pen scratching across from me, jarring and loud and quick and if that wasn't bad enough, he started mumbling under his breath. I glanced at his paper and pretended to be evaluating it while listening to what he's saying. It'd make for a good story during lunchtime, and smooth over any blemishes on my reputation for having to deal with him.

"Stupid Dib-stink," he growled. "They will _never_ see it coming. Your pathetic planet didn't, even with you there to protect it. These cretins are not _you_, and there will never be another like you again. None stand in the way of Zim now!" He quieted down, and was writing even more furiously than before.

See? Completely crazy. I bet he got kicked out of his old school for going all psychopath on them.

Everyone seemed to be done with the evaluations, so I quickly scanned Greenboy's paper and made a few random red marks. It's supposed to be the first draft of a fiction story about the apocalypse, and I guess it was, but Greenboy's barely even made any sense. I mean, I got the whole "alien invasion" thing, but his paper went on into this whole conspiracy spiel about how the aliens are among us and GIR gets the moon and Dib was always right, you pathetic worm-babies. It felt like I was reading from the secret journal of some mass murderer.

Now that I write it, I wonder if I should have shown it to the counsellor and get him sent to an asylum.

The bell rang, and we all headed for lunch. On the way out, the teacher cheerfully reminded us, "Remember class, final drafts of your stories are due in three days!"

_._

_Dear Journal,_

Never mind about showing the counselor. Tacky just told me that we are supposed to read our stupid stories _out loud_ when they're due. Why go to the counselor when I can just sit back and watch him spew his craziness for all the world to see? I'm sure I have a tape recorder somewhere so that me and the others can replay it long after he's lobotomized and in a straightjacket.

Damn, the lunch lines are long. There better be something good to eat today.

_._

_Dear Journal,_

I'm going to kill that freak. This is all his fault anyways. It's not my fault if he doesn't know his place!

Damn it, my hand is shaking, I'm so mad. This is stupid. This is so incredibly stupid. The psychopath got out scotch free and I'm sitting here, aching and exhausted and my ears are ringing from being yelled at for an hour. I might as well write down what happened. I'm starting to think this journal is just a collection of evidence against how completely out of his mind Greenboy is. Whatever. Here it is.

I'd gotten lunch and so had my friends, but it was some weird inedible muck and a piece of fruit that I'm pretty sure was really a rock. None of us were going to eat it, but there was no reason to put it to waste, yeah? And the muck kind of felt like clay, so we were molding it into little balls and throwing it at the rejects' table. They were all cowards, and we knew they weren't going to do something stupid like retaliate and start a food fight. They'd probably burst into flames if a teacher so much as gave them a mean look.

Greenboy, of course, was a reject even among the rejects. None of us really messed with him even during lunch, if only because if you so much as breathed in his direction he'd start screaming at you and _that_ migraine lasted three days, minimum. Personally, I thought that he should get used to it. He wasn't even on the bottom rung of the social ladder; he'd already fallen off, dived face-first into the water below and gotten eaten by carnivorous fish. If you weren't prepared to accept that you were a toy of your betters, then you might as well not even leave your house.

Since Greenboy hadn't learned this lesson on his own, I decided to speed his education up. I grabbed one of the fruit-rocks and aimed before launching it at his head.

_God _if that wasn't satisfying. It almost makes up for all of this, if only to have had the chance to see that expression on his face. He fell off the bench and hit the ground pretty heavily, if the fact that I heard the _thud _from across the room was any indication. He was wearing that stupid backpack like always, and I have no doubt that it made the landing even more painful. He scrambled back to his feet, hands running over his face and head like he thought I'd knocked something off.

There was a moment of silence before everyone at my table started laughing and a few slapped my back. It was a great feeling, putting him in his place like that. It was _right_. He was a freak, I wasn't. He should know that he wasn't wanted.

I didn't see him get up. I didn't hear him stalk over to me. I _did _feel it when he dumped everything on his tray on me, and I did hear it when some random nobody screamed, "Food fight!" and threw a fruit-rock at another random nobody.

_Chaos_. Pure, messy chaos erupted all around me, but before I could get up or even attempt to wipe the food off me Greenboy slammed his tray against the side of my face, knocking me flat. I sprung up, ready to beat him to a pulp, but the coward had skittered off. Barely ten minutes later, six teachers, the vice principal, and the principal stopped the fight and had us all cleaning up the destroyed cafeteria.

Now, I'm a nice person. Real generous, if you will. While Greenboy had earned himself a pummeling for dumping the food on me and hitting me with his tray, he was still going to be able to walk once I was done. But _now..._

He lied to the principal. I just know it. "Someone informed us that you threw food at Mr. Zim," the principal had said. "They said that that started the food fight in the cafeteria earlier."

_Someone_. Yeah right. Greenboy hit me, then ran away like a coward to tattle to the principal and bring all the teachers down on us while he got off looking like the poor victim. What's worse is, after people found out that "someone" told on me, a whole bunch of crybabies started going to the principal with all these "poor me" stories. I got kicked off and banded from all the sports teams forever, and now I have detention for a month.

None of my friends will talk to me, too afraid that they'll get in trouble for so much as breathing the same air as me. Mom grounded me for two months when I got home, and Dad yelled so loud I think I've gone deaf.

I actually feel a little bit better now. Still going to kill Greenboy, but now I'm in a better state of mind to actually _plan _the freak's demise. Not right now, though. I'm tired, and aching, and three showers later, I still smell like clay-muck and fruit-rocks.

_._

_Dear Journal,_

I just had the weirdest dream about a massive four-legged, red-eyed spider.

_._

_Dear Journal,_

Now that I'm awake, I really don't know how I'm going to kill Greenboy. I mean, I'm not going to _kill_-kill him, I'm not crazy, but there's got to be _something _big I can do. He ruined my life, so I'm going to ruin his. The question is _how_.

He has no reputation to smear, no friends to alienate, and no one who can do anything about it thinks he's crazy. Well, thinks he's crazy _yet_. Maybe...

I have an idea. And it's the greatest idea ever.

I'll _expose _Z̶̷i̶̷m̶̷ Greenboy! If everyone sees that he's a lunatic, then the principal will _have _to revoke all the punishments. You can't do anything on the basis of a crazy man's testimony, I saw it on TV.

Videotaping him talking to "Dib" or his dog would work best. He does the former all the time, so it shouldn't be too hard to get evidence of that. If I get him to talk about his stupid alien invasion stories, I could probably record it as a proof that he's a conspiracy theorist. Those guys are all crazy, yeah? And his skin condition, who knows if it's _just _a skin condition? It could be physical proof of his insanity.

The best time to show my recordings would have to be right after he shares his story next week. Then, people will hear his crazy story and then after they see my video, they'll _have _to admit he's crazy and send him to an asylum.

Ugh, time to go to school. I'll write more later.

_._

_Dear Journal,_

Being ignored by everyone may actually be a boon. It's easier to spy on Greenboy if I'm not surrounded by a horde of people. I was right, too; now that I'm actively paying attention to him, I've noticed that he really is always talking to some voice in his head. It's kind of weird, listening to him. It's like listening to someone on one end of a communication device. Except Greenboy isn't talking into a device, he's talking to thin air.

"I am almost finished, Dib. Aren't you going to try to stop me?"

Silence._  
_

"You always say that, putrescent worm-baby, but it hasn't happened yet. No one notices Zim until Zim wants them to."

He even talks in the third-person. A lot. Only really crazy people do that. I'll have to make sure to get a lot of conversations like that.

He glanced my way so I quickly pretended to work on my fiction story. It's hard to focus on it when I have a lunatic to unveil. I never really planned to put that much effort in it, anyways. It's _fiction_. The teacher can't give you a bad grade on a story. That's ridiculous.

He started talking again, and though it was a bit quieter, it's obvious that Greenboy has never heard of "inside voices".

"I know exactly what to do, Dib-human. And Zim will have much fun while doing it."

_Human_. That's the weirdest-sounding word he's ever said, and I've heard him yell about his Squeedlyspooch after getting punched in the stomach. Is it some kind of insult? Like, _hahaha, you're such a human, Tacky. _If so, it's kind of lame.

The third-person thing. It's killing me.

_._

_Dear Journal,_

I just hit the jackpot. I know I did. This one's the craziest, and I'm positive it'll prove he's psychotic.

It was the restroom again. I didn't even mean to find him in there. I'm glad I've started taking my camera everywhere with me, because after this, _no one _is going to be able to deny he's insane. _No one.__  
_

"_Tomorrow, _Dib-beast," he was sneering at his own reflection, like it was supposed to answer. "Where are you, hmm? Still hiding? I would too, if I were you; Zim's unstoppable, as you well know."**  
**

He was silent for a while, and then he just screamed, "**_I am not_ _short!_**" before slamming his fist against the glass so hard it cracked. I almost ran away to show the video to the principal right then, but then he pushed away from the sink and stood as tall as he could. "I am _amazing_, Earth-monkey," he hissed. "I am _**Zim.** _I will win, and you _fear _me. _That _is why you do not show yourself! You fear my _power_, you fear defeat at my hand again!"

Greenboy snorted. "It will become a shopping mall, stupid human. Shopmallia. The Tallest decreed this."

I don't know who the Tallest is. Probably another voice in his head. I'm not telling the principal about the mirror, either. That'd ruin the surprise, and I don't want to show _any _of the footage of Greenboy's craziness until tomorrow.

.

_Dear Journal,_

They blamed Tacky for the mirror for some reason. I'm almost tempted to take out Greenboy's freak out, if only so Tacky stays in trouble. Serves him right, abandoning me because some losers cried to the principal.

_._

_Dear Journal,_

I saw him with his dog today. They were walking by my house when I was staring out the window because I'm _still _grounded.

If Greenboy by himself is crazy, then him and his dog are the freakshow of a circus. The green mutt walks on _two legs _most of the time, and I swear I saw it holding chocolate. Its tongue must be too long for its mouth, because it's always showing. It's probably not a real dog, anyways. Halfway past my window, it stopped to look at a flower and Greenboy just tugged on the leash and dragged the dog like a doll.

I'm glad I had my camera on me. Now, not only is he going to be shown as a lunatic, he'll be shown to be an animal abuser as well.

.

_Dear Journal, _

Another spider dream. I think I might need some sleeping pills.

_._

_Dear Journal,_

For the first time, I think I may actually be excited to go to school. The footage is put together, the audio is perfect, the resolution is nearly high definition, and I have the perfect excuse for why I have to show my "story" in video form instead of reading it aloud. A few hoarse words and complaints about my throat and Mom thinks I'm losing my voice.

"I knew I was losing it," I said sadly. "I recorded my story last night, 'cause I knew I wouldn't be able to talk today."

"You could stay home," she offered. When I said I _had _to go to school, she called me valiant. I just looked it up; I'm exposing a dangerous madman. I deserve to have my picture used as the definition of valiant.

.

_Dear Journal,_

Greenboy's going after Tacky. I'm going right after Greenboy.

He's been kinda quiet today, but he won't stop smiling. It's creepy. Hopefully, it'll make it more believable that he's insane.

Ugh. This is taking forever. Tacky's isn't even that good. Something about a guy and a box and time travel

No wait, Greenboy's walking up now. _Finally._

.

_Dear Journal,_

Oh god. I don't know what to do. I don't know what to do. My hands are shaking and I'm about to have a panic attack and oh god, I don't know what to do.

Writing this helps me from doing something stupid, like screaming.

Blip knew. Jeez, Blip knew. He called Zim an invader and

Oh god, Zim killed Blip. Zim heard him and Zim killed Blip, and we all thought he just moved up north.

This wasn't supposed to happen. I was supposed to show off that Greenboy's a lunatic and instead we find out that Zim's an alien and he just took over the world in five minutes.

I have to write this. I don't want to, but I have to. Somehow… maybe it'll get to another planet, maybe it'll stop this guy and - and his army. I… Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god.

It was that damned fiction story. Everyone went up and told their stories, and then it was Greenboy's turn. He just walked up, cleared his throat, and started talking.

"_Often_ upon a time," he proclaimed, and there was a slight shake as a mini-earthquake hit, "there was a planet. A pathetic, stupid little planet."

Then he smiled.

"And it had a visitor."

There was another rumble. I started getting cold, then.

"This visitor," Greenboy went on, "was _amazing_. The best visitor of his species, as told by his very creators! For you see, worm-babies, this visitor had a _purpose_."

More rumbling. A building nearby exploded. Me and everyone else tried to run out the door, but it was locked from the outside. A lot of us turned towards the windows, but then we saw Him, and windows were at the back of our minds.

He wasn't Greenboy. Not really. He had red eyes, and two antennae sticking out of the top of his head. Four metal spiderlegs jutted out of his backpack, and he was just casually hanging there, holding Greenboy's paper while the world caught fire behind him.

"This _visitor_," he said in Greenboy's voice, "served an empire. The greatest empire there ever was or ever will be! And despite the machinations of certain _beasts_," he glared at an empty spot at his side, "this visitor was tasked with inducting more filthy little planets into this empire's power.

"For this was the Irken Empire. And he was an Invader."

The alien that looked and spoke like Greenboy turned his eyes towards the teacher, who was nearly fainting from fear. "My apologizes, miss. Zim seems to have written a nonfiction story." There was another explosion; the alien moved his spiderlegs so that he could look out the window better. "And it seems you have more visitors."

The click of the door unlocking was heavenly; we practically busted the door down to escape, but that's when we found out that _escape_ wasn't possible. Bigger, armored aliens had broken through the school and were zapping people and yelling at them to go outside. We were being corralled as well, but there was a hallway that the aliens didn't see; some of us ran down it to try to escape. An alien chased us, and I've only gotten away because they were too busy stabbing Tacky.

Now I'm here, hiding under a table in a science lab, writing in this stupid journal and I can hear the screams and explosions outside. What if Zim blows up the building? What if they execute me when they catch me? I don't want to die. I don't deserve to die. I don't deserve this. I want to go home, I want to wake up from this stupid nightmare, I want

Oh god. The door opened. Someone's coming

nowait those arent boots its a spider

was that red

.

_**Dear Dib,**_

_**This is planet number seven. Try harder next time.**_

_**Hate,**_

_**Zim**_

* * *

**A/N:** Making despicable narrators is a lot more entertaining than I thought.

A thing: Yes, I know that Zim is incredibly incompetent. It's integral to his character. _However, _he's shown remarkable potential to be one of the most dangerous Invaders ever, and I like to think that Earth honed that potential. But, I will talk about that later, if I ever do a Zim perspective of this all.

The "greatest visitor ever" thing is a reference to the unaired episode, _The Trial_.

Do review. It would be a nice thing to do, and will ensure your safety from smelly piggies… Piggies from me, at least.


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